


How to Die Painfully, or: the Bus Back Home

by alec



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies), Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Painfully Awkward Situations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 09:05:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3804688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alec/pseuds/alec
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was going to be a six hour ride back to university, and Jack just wanted anything other than to be here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Die Painfully, or: the Bus Back Home

Jack tossed his bag on the seat, resting his head against the lowered ceiling that ran above the seats of the bus. It was going to be a six hour ride back to university, and he was going to have to spend the entirety of it sitting on an uncomfortable seat that would bounce and shake with every pothole the bus rode over. The doors to the bus had not shut — hell, Jack had been one of the first people on the bus and so it wouldn't close for a while — but the air was already stagnant and very sightly warmed, and it felt stifling to Jack. It was the type of air that was uncomfortable but only by a very slight bit; the kind of environment that you wanted to complain about but which wasn't _actually_ bad enough to earn sympathy for.

Jack took a deep, resigned breath before sliding himself into the window seat. Already his body was complaining at the all-too-familiar discomfort that it would soon be experiencing; it was Jack's second year at university, and his parents thought taking the bus a better solution for Jack travelling to and from school than if they drove to pick him up. Jack understood — and, logically, it _was_ a better solution than his parents driving six hours both ways — but it was so uncomfortable and about an hour into it he would feel horribly cramped and need to get up and run laps. It was a feeling that only came with sitting on this bus, right here, and nowhere else. The window was about as uncomfortable as Jack had expected when he rested his head against the pane, but he left it there in the hopes that as his head lost all feeling it would become softer. He closed his eyes, gauging to see if he would actually be able to fall asleep like this. No dice.

He pulled his backpack to his body, sliding it to the floor and stuffing it under the seat in front of him. He had books to read for class on Monday, as well as the book he was currently reading through because he'd heard just enough of his friends tell him to. He knew that he'd arrive back on campus without having read the textbook, but he would probably read at least some of the latter. Christmas had also been quite rewarding, and there were three more books stuffed in there as well. It was a difficult fit getting the bag to fit under the seat.

He'd dig through his backpack once the bus was moving. Right now, it was time for him to adjust to his seat.

This was not the first time that Jack had regretted not bringing a pillow with him on the journey home. He'd remembered to do it once — last Christmas — but he had packed days in advance since he'd finished his exams early that year. Much more common was for him to throw things hastily into his open bag three hours before the bus left. He would manage to forget other things as well: deodorant; his calculator; his maths homework altogether (which at least gave him an excuse for not having his calculator). Of course, he wouldn't tell his parents he'd forgotten things — God, he would never have heard them shut up about it — but he had to sneak off to the store and buy deodorant. For which he was glad he did, as he could already feel the lukewarm, still air affecting him.

"Yo, is this seat taken?" Jack groaned internally at the disruption; the setup he was in was uncomfortable, sure, but like hell he was going to be happy with someone else disturbing him. When he looked up though, his eyes opened wider than he'd expected them to.

The high, somewhat squeaky voice belied the— the— well, Adonis wasn't the right word, but Jack couldn't think what the right word would be to describe the guy standing before him. _Hot_ , definitely. _"Holy-shit hot"_ worked even better. Shaggy brown hair swept over a perfectly angled face, a dusting of light, brown hairs running along the entirety of the his jaw. Green eyes looked down at him between from between a perfect, rounded nose, as if now asking why answering this question was taking far longer than it should have. Large black and green headphones hung around the guy's neck, and from where Jack was sitting, he could hear the sounds of light rock.

"Uh, sure— yeah," Jack responded, suddenly _very happy_ that he had looked up in the first place. With an answer finally, the guy swung himself into the aisle seat beside Jack.

"Thanks, bud," he said, before pulling back on the headphones and closing his eyes as he rested his head against the seatback. After a minute, the song seemed to take him and he began drumming against his knee in time with his music.

Jack's heart was beating quickly, nerves suddenly on edge as the radical voice in his head told him to talk to the guy and every other voice present was holding him the fuck back. He returned to leaning his head against the glass, though he continued to stare directly forward, and he was suddenly _acutely_ aware of his hands and the positions they were making where they rested on his lap and making sure that they remained the required distance from the other boy's body.

_'This is_ not _the first cute boy you've seen, Jack'_ he berated himself. But it _had_ been a long time since he'd made out with someone or held someone's hand, much less anything more than that; and this boy was far above the average level of cute. He was downright really fucking hot, and he was sitting not even a foot away from Jack. The stuffy air of the bus felt that much stuffier now.

More people continued to trickle into the cabin, a new person coming every time that Jack was sure they were all on. When the air conditioning finally turned on — bringing with it one of the greatest waves of relief Jack had felt since Emma had bailed him out during Thanksgiving with grandma — Jack was feeling far more restless far _earlier_ than he ever had before. He needed this ride to have been over about fifteen minutes ago, because the longer that he was sitting here the more probable it was that Jack was going to fuck up royally.

And.. the bus was leaving the Wal-mart parking lot. And the bus was turning onto Whitemane Avenue. And the bus was stopping at the stupid red light. And then at the next light. If Jack was going to be stuck on this bus, he at least needed a reckless driver, because his adrenaline was spiking. He closed his eyes and took _deep_ , planned breaths, keeping it up until he was lightheaded and a bit faint. It took a lot of the nerves off, but moreover it forced his mind to go completely blank. Oh, blessed asphyxia.

The boy had stopped moving at any rate, and that made it a lot easier. He was the picture of serenity, with his hands cupped together over his lap.

_'Oh my god, he has beautiful hands.'_

Jack dug the overstuffed paper bag of mini cookies from his backpack, unfurling the top in a hurry and stuffing two into his mouth with the least amount of decorum he'd ever shown. The wash of chocolate and sugar against his tongue cleared the rest of his head. Jack accepted gluttony over lust, and he continued to munch on what _was_ supposed to be a trip-long snack. The boy next to him was entirely forgotten in the wake of baked bliss, though Jack's heart fluttered at the thought of the boy asking him for one. But another cookie in his mouth and the brown-haired boy was gone again.

A third of the bag gone, and with it so was the primal allure of the boy next to him. The world was back into perspective, and the boy was hot — just _stupidly_ fucking attractive — but he was also a stranger and in twelve hours they'd be faded memories to each other. Jack had things to do and a life to lead and he couldn't let it be derailed every time he saw an attractive boy.

Which meant the next forty five minutes were spent playing Mario. The other boy was completely forgotten in the wake of it, except for a moment of acute and painful self awareness when he cheered quietly at beating Boss W-3 after a day of trying. And by the time the battery light turned a solid red another forty minutes after that, Jack himself was running close to empty, the cookies digesting and the rhythmic motion of the bus casting Jack into sleepiness. Securing the Game Boy away in the front pocket of his backpack, Jack wadded up his jacket, sticking it in the space between the crook of his neck and the window. It stuck his head out much further than he wanted it to, but it was still at least a bit more comfortable than what he'd been doing before.

Jack thought about eating another cookie, the memory of the taste drawing him in, but he was asleep before his will resolved to move.

* * *

The jacket had fallen. Well, Jack's brain wasn't awake enough to make that thought _entirely_ , but his face was registering only sharp lines and painfully blunt surfaces. Stubbornness to remain motionless battled against a desire to find _anything_ more comfortable, and Jack was still too asleep for this shit. He was conscious of the fact that his head was now leaning to the right, which was decidedly not the direction of the glass (probably why this was painful as shit rather than just regular painful), but he didn't care because he wasn't going to do anything about it.

Then the surfaced moved away from him and said "Hey bud, it's time to wake up. We're here."

Jack's eyes were wide open and he was plastered against the wall of the bus in less than a second. The boy he'd been sitting next to — _sleeping on_ — was staring at him with an eyebrow cocked in mild confusion, mild amusement. Mortification was the only sensation that Jack could feel. Which was _before_ he felt the slight trail of wetness on his chin that led to him noticing to the damp spot on the boy's shirt.

Any hint of colour was gone from Jack, and he was sure that he had felt his blood stop moving altogether.

He couldn't bring himself to say anything. Jack was absolutely sure that nothing in his life had been more embarrassing than this very moment, and there was nothing he could do about it because he was completely frozen in time. All he did was drop his eyes to the side so that he didn't have to make eye contact with the stupidly hot boy he had _literally_ just drooled over and prayed that any and every god strike him down. He was being rude on so many levels to the other boy, but that was the absolute least of his problems right now.

The boy waited a few seconds, then shrugged and brushed at his shoulder lightly (Jack cringed deeply). "It's alright, don't worry about it," as he stood up, ducking backwards and into the aisle. There was another brief pause though it felt more like a courtesy wait before: "Aight, have a good one." And then he was off down the aisle.

_'I'm never going to have another good one. Ever again.'_

Jack didn't move for two minutes. When he finally did, his actions felt jerky as the tension across his body refused to ebb. He reached for his backpack slowly, fingering the hanging loop at the top of it and doing nothing else. Another two minutes passed before he even began looking for his jacket.

He was stalling for time. Jack wanted nothing more than to bolt out, dash to the city bus, race up the three flights of stairs and collapse in the corner of his dorm room and not move until his roommate came back. But the boy was probably out there right now, getting his bags. Jack needed to wait until the boy was long gone — already in a taxi headed away, or on the city bus, or just plain _gone_. It was absolutely not overreacting to never want to see the boy again.

Anxiety gave way to fierce boredom and adrenaline, but he managed to last ten minutes until the bus driver appeared in the stairwell, telling him that it was time for him to get off the bus. If the driver was here, then that meant that the bags had already been unloaded, and the other boy was gone. He might still be on the block, but Jack had given him as good a headstart as fate was allowing.

Peeking his head out the door of the bus, everyone _had_ left, and there was just Jack's suitcase sitting alone in the middle of the sidewalk. Even still absorbed in self-loathing, Jack was a bit miffed that the driver had just decided to leave his suitcase completely unguarded and alone in the middle of the city. He grabbed the handle on the luggage and began moving towards the end of the block. He couldn't seem to decide if he wanted to move quickly and get it over with or if he wanted to move slowly and avoid detection, and so the walk was an awkward mix of both actions, and Jack really just wanted to die right now.

"Oh hey, I was beginning to wonder if I'd missed you."

Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fucking fuckerson fucking shit god _fucking_ dammit fucking no fuck fuck _fuuckk_. God, no, _please_ , shit.

Jack turned towards the boy, who had been leaning against the flat front of the bus, a duffel bag at his feet that he picked up as he began to walk towards Jack. With the boy approaching, the word-vomit began: "I'm so sorry, that was disgusting and I didn't mean to and oh my God I'm just—." His eyes almost had to cross to see the scrap of folded looseleaf extended towards him between two fingers. He reached up hesitantly, expecting his own death warrant.

"You're really cute when you sleep," the boy said as Jack opened the folded piece of paper. _Harry, 907-661-3039_. Jack's eyes were wide (and at this point, full of disbelief in general) as he looked up at the boy — _Harry_ , apparently. "Call me if you'd ever like to try it again."

Jack wasn't sure if he was being teased or flirted with, but his face turned a deep shade of _fuck_ regardless.

"I'll talk with you later," the boy said, waving a hand slightly before carrying his duffel down the sidewalk towards the opposite busstop.

Jack picked himself up and walked to the side of the building he had just been standing next to. He neatly rolled the suitcase flush against the wall, then leaned back himself before sliding down, face completely emotionless. Jack sat there, staring at nothing and clutching his chest, pretty sure that the past half an hour had caused his heart to explode.


End file.
